


Amid the Flowers

by jat_sapphire



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Fluff, Lucid Dreaming, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 23:09:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19451380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jat_sapphire/pseuds/jat_sapphire
Summary: Bodie dreams lucidly.  They worry about each other.





	Amid the Flowers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Madameravenclaw](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Madameravenclaw).
  * Inspired by ["Daydream/I fell asleep amid the flowers"](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/495019) by madameravensc law. 



Since he was just a lad, Bodie had been able to choose what he dreamed. Not every bit. He still had nightmares and sad dreams—he couldn't control which emotions followed him into sleep—but he could concentrate on a setting and dream himself there, or concentrate on a problem and keep teasing at it while he slept. He was proud of this skill though he never spoke of it. He could comfort himself, even re-dream nightmares, and it was practical to wake having thought more while he slept.

These days, he mostly dreamed of Doyle.

Tonight, he was in Oz, in the poppy field. It was restful. He couldn't dream that he was sleeping, but he felt pleasantly tired, and he relaxed among sweet-smelling ruby-red blooms with black and golden centres. Ray was curled next to him, in the animal form he often wore in Bodie's dreams. His fur was bushy, his mane curled the way his real hair did, and he was auburn-gold-chestnut all over, darker down his spine and in his mane, a lighter colour underneath, where he liked to be scratched. Beautiful, he was. These dreams were not sexy, but there was a slow, sweet pleasure in resting his face in Doyle's mane or where the sun warmed the massive muscles in his limbs and his heavy ribs. Unlike the real Doyle's sometimes noisome breath, the Doyle in his dream had a hot, savoury exhalation that made Bodie happy. Delicious. If he found a waking roast that smelled this way, or a pudding, he'd pile the table with platters of it and gorge.

He didn't know that he spoke in his sleep. “Ray,” he said softly, not very clearly. No one heard. Usually, when he was asleep on the sofa, Doyle was either sacked out beside him, or perhaps he'd thrown a blanket over Bodie and left him in favour of Doyle's own bed. Lately, though, just back to normal daily assignments since Maklin had certified Doyle fit for the A squad again, Ray slept deeply but uneasily. Sometimes they woke each other. “Ray, come on, keep up,” Bodie muttered, and Ray jerked awake. “What?”

Or Ray moaned, “Bo-die. Careful, careful,” and squirmed until Bodie blinked and shook his head. “Sunshine?”

“... ssuns'ine,” Ray echoed, fast asleep. Bodie watched over him, smiling, until the depth of the night was too silent for him, the dark too black, and he'd slip off to sleep, to a sunny beach or a bright pub. One hand, he'd leave on Ray's solar plexus or on his ribs, the steady heartbeat and breath carrying Bodie into his dream. 

But one day, they ran and fought until their muscles ached and sagged, and Ray had not met his own high expectations, so when Cowley scolded them, Ray took it hard. He muttered and complained in his sleep, and worried himself into nightmares. “Bodie! No! Bodie!” he kept saying, and even when Bodie slept through it, Doyle woke and lay staring into the black night. They were both lucky when their sleep-talk woke them both. 

“What's worrying you?” Bodie asked.

Ray shook his head.

“No, I mean it.”

Ray was silent for long enough for Bodie to turn on his side, lean up on an elbow, look at the dark shape beside him.

“Me,” Ray said at last. Bodie focused on the shadowy mouth and the vague dark movements of Ray's lips. Were they trembling? He reached to touch them and let his fingertips rest on the soft wrinkled skin until Ray spoke again.

“If you'd been shot, would I have saved you?” Ray's voice was almost inaudible.

“I set the security locks,” Bodie protested, and Ray laughed a little, a few puffs of air.

“If you were shot.” The words were heavy with emotion, dragging through the air.

“I, I'm not worried.” _I trust you,_ Bodie thought. _I rely on you._ “You'd save me. 'Course you would.” 

__

Ray didn't answer. His breathing showed strain. Then words burst out, rushed and intense: “Just be careful, Bodie, take care.”

“You'll save me,” he repeated. But Doyle didn't understand. “You'd better, Ray. I, I need you.”

Ray relaxed suddenly, all over, let the bed take him, let Bodie hold him. It was like one of Bodie's lucid dreams. “Do you?” Ray asked, but easily, as if he knew the answer. Their skin met, as if they were part of each other. Like their eyes met, and met again, in the car, as they crept up on a target. “Oh, Bodie. I need you. I don't know how, how I'd ...” and he shook his head again.

“I don't know how I'd breathe.” Bodie felt as though he were speaking for Doyle, in unison with Doyle. “I don't know how I'd believe.”

As if that were the last straw, as if Doyle could bear no more, he turned and kissed Bodie as if for air. Bodie found he had both arms tight around Ray, solid muscle and hard bone, the flare of desire and life building brighter and hotter. He felt intensely aware of all his senses, of all he had and all he wanted. “Dream?” he said between kisses.

“Real.” Ray sounded utterly certain. “Real.”

Cheek against cheek, breathing together, as tight together as they could lie, Ray spoke again, as softly as to his own shadow. “When I was very young, I used to lie on the ground on a vacant lot and watch the wildflowers. I imagined I was small enough to be inside them. Petals like soft walls. Pollen like a duvet under me, like a futon. I loved it, except sometimes a bee or a damselfly would land there.”

“Oh no!”

“I know! Once or twice I even cried. No one was sympathetic.”

“Dream,” Bodie said ruefully, but kissed between Ray's eyebrows, on the bridge of his nose, on his sweet lips. “Always room enough for you.”

“Softie.” Sometimes, Ray's voice had so much love in it that Bodie thought he could have played it on a viol or a cello.

“Music,” he breathed, thinking Ray would not know what he meant, but he chuckled softly and kissed again.

Bodie's mouth fell open a little, and he lifted his chin to let Ray kiss his neck. And Ray did, the wet prints of his lips and the soft laps of his tongue sweeping Bodie away, into a delicious dream that was waking and true. Flowers all around, sugared air, bright colour. His love in his arms.

“Sunshine,” summed it all up for Bodie. And Ray, moving a little closer, hummed a little, agreeing.


End file.
